


Ugly

by JaqofSpades



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Wishlist fic 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All you see is the scar, and what happened, and ... I know it's ugly, but it doesn't make me ugly," she insists, mouth tight in a mulish line.   "It doesn't - but the way you look at me ..."  she turns her head away, his brave, bright Abby who refuses to be cowed.  She turns her head away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ugly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarcastic_fina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/gifts).



> My Wishlist fic for sarcastic fina, to the prompt Gibbs/Abby: gunshot wound. Sorry it has taken me so long ... hope you enjoy!

The exit wound is perfectly circular, the shiny new flesh winking at him whenever she moves a certain way. Sometimes he's looking over her shoulder, or glancing sideways at a screen, or caught in one of her hugs, and a flash of red or black or purple will demand his attention. His mouth will go dry at the sight of milk white skin rising above satin or lace, and he'll be a moment too slow in dragging his eyes away, and then he will see the scar.

And her blood is exploding all over him, and her body is collapsing into his arms, and her skin is cooling and his heart, his heart ...

A sudden sting in his arm yanks him free of the memory and he looks down to find black fingernails digging into his skin. She bats away his astonishment with a glare, then slaps a sheaf of printouts against his chest.

"Yadda yadda yadda, as if you're even listening," she says wearily, and whirls for the stairs.

He stares after her, non-plussed, because they're at work, and she's a professional, and hell - she's Abby, who lives to explain her results. Something's wrong.

Trauma, he wonders. Shock. Survivor's guilt? Could it be she's in pain, or suffering fatigue?

He sorts the possibilities, but nothing fits the girl who squealed with delight when he delivered her CafPow this morning, and was bouncing off the walls waiting on Major Mass Spec ten minutes ago. It's something else.

Something he did, he accepts with a sinking feeling.

*

2200 hours and he's suddenly too hungry to work. He heads home - may as well sleep too - wondering about the two-day-old takeaway in his fridge.

She's waiting on the stoop, more casual than he's ever seen her, hair tumbling down her back, red and black plaid shirt over a pair of worn jeans. Her lipstick, though, is fresh. He takes a deep breath when he recognises the sanity-threatening dark red she wears on the days when she's fed up, or pissed off, or just plain cranky.

"Abs?" he asks, and she just shakes her head. He's never been on the receiving end of that hard stare before, all turmoil and wrath, and knows she's about to let him know exactly what he's done.

In spades.

He unlocks the door and watches warily as she stomps inside and sits herself at the kitchen table, vibrating with the need to say something.

"Out with it, then," he says, propping himself against the kitchen bench opposite.

"Gibbs, you ... the way you ... you don't SEE me any more," she blurts, and the way she stumbles over the words tells him she's more than just angry. He's hurt her, somehow. 

"All you see is the scar, and what happened, and ... I know it's ugly, but it doesn't make me ugly," she insists, mouth tight in a mulish line. "It doesn't - but the way you look at me ..." she turns her head away, his brave, bright Abby who refuses to be cowed. She turns her head away.

"You're making me feel ugly," she whispers, almost to herself.

Disbelief rises in a wave, but he has so many denials crashing around his brain that none of them manage to make their way out of his mouth. He shakes his head, and his throat works helplessly.

"No, Abs," he croaks finally. "God, no."

She raises an eyebrow at his denials, but her face is still closed, almost angry as she watches him struggle for something more meaningful. Nothing comes, though, and all he can do is blink in surprise when she rises from the table and walks around to stand directly in front of him - touching distance, if he dared to touch this girl. He wants to hug her, wants to go back to being Gibbs and Abby, but she moves before he can, and ... shit. Fuck. 

She's lifting her t-shirt over her head, leaving him staring at tattoos he's never seen, constellations of intrigue he had no idea existed. Abby's not shy, but there are lines he won't allow them to cross, and this ... these, that ... he's going to have to forget. Can't even dream about it, he orders himself as she tosses her shirt away, and returns her gaze to his. Then she unhooks her bra and drops it at his feet, challenge in every line of her body.

"Prove it." 

There's a slap behind her words, a hardness he rarely hears from his bubbly, affectionate protege. It's the Abby he tries to forget is in there, the one who wears thigh-high boots and a dog-collar, and once admitted she loves the sting of a new tattoo. So erotic, he has to hide his reaction to her dark red pout. Temptation incarnate.

And he's making her feel ugly. 

The groan rips from his throat before he can stop it, as unavoidable as the hard-on currently pushing at the front of his jeans. She has felled him with an argument he can't ignore, and he's throbbing with the need to show her, inch by spectacular inch, exactly how ugly she's not.

He lunges across the gulf between them and bends her backwards over his arm, her startled gasp making the scar nestled between her breasts flutter like a pink butterfly. He slides the tip of his tongue over the too-smooth skin, and it dances even more violently as she begins to shake in his arms.

Vulnerable, suddenly. Abby, once more. 

"No, Gibbs, no," she pleads, and he considers backing off. She'd make it easy for him, right now. They could pretend this had never happened. Just one more thing they needed to avoid. But ... wasn't that the root of the whole problem? 

He needed to see.

"You're not ugly, Abs. It's not ugly. Sometimes I can't look at it, but it's nothing to do with ugly."

He strokes the scar with gentle fingers, then splays his hand to swallow her entire breast.

"I hate that I let you down. Couldn't keep you safe. We weren't together, I made sure of that, but they still came after you. Because of me," he said quietly, hand tightening convulsively, thumb brushing over her nipple almost by mistake.

She shudders, but still manages to glare at him. "They came after me because it was my work that they were worried about. You caught them, but I was about to nail them," she hisses. Gibbs blinks at the reproof, stunned. But damned if she isn't right. He can't take that from her. He can't punish her for being good at what she does.

And he can't, not for one more minute, hold back this thing that's been building between them for years.

He traces his thumb around her nipple more purposefully, then drops his gaze to drink her in - the dark red of a furled rose here, a spray of tiny black stars there. A long chain of script spirals around one breast in a dizzying homage to its lush beauty; dark red nipples stand rigid as bullets from pale, pebbled areolas. 

The moan that rises from her is desperate, and it slams into him. Abby wants him. Probably always has, and they can never go back to sweet forehead kisses and innocent hugs. Years of restraint, made pointless by one simple act, and his heartbeat is thrumming something that sounds suspiciously like "at last, at last, at last."

Gibbs smiles, and bows his head to taste her skin.

*

"Prove it," she had said.

He thinks on this as his lizard brain rolls in the taste and texture and scent of her. The shocking smoothness of new skin, fractured by the jagged seam of a scar. An exotic tang, mango, maybe papaya - soap, or a cream? Oil, he decides, but only here, where the bullet slammed into her uppermost rib, and shattered so much more than her fragile flesh.

"It's a reminder," he mumbles, lips still pressing reverent kisses to the slope of her breast.

"Wha- what?" Abby gasps, and he's not convinced she actually wants an answer. She's trying to distract herself, not ready to yield quite yet. His lips curl at the reminder of how alike they are, he and Abs. Stubborn to the end.

Practical, though. Always open to a good argument.

"This scar. 'M gonna see it differently now," he explains, saluting the angry circle with a lingering last kiss before straightening to look her in the eye.

"Impermanence. Fragility. Strength to overcome," he says gently, feeling her shoulders tense underneath his hands.

"All reminders of how stupid we were, not to do this. "

He sees the hope lighting in her eyes, but she's not ready to jump in feet first. She'll test the waters, take a reading or two, his Abs. She needs to be sure.

"But our work,"she objects. "Your rules," she moans, as his mouth finds the tender flesh underneath her ear, tongue tracing the lines of the web and tickling over the spider lurking at the centre.

"Rules change," he mumbles, then steels himself to make his confession.

"The rules protect me. Help me to try and protect the team. I thought that was my job ... and everytime I saw your scar - it was telling me I had failed." He nearly laughs as she stiffens in indignation, but he kisses her instead, a benediction on her forehead, the way they've always done.

"Failed you, Abs. Thank God I was wrong." She beams at him then, proud, and it's so familiar, so them, that he has to take this moment and make it something new. So he buries his hands in her hair, and covers her mouth with his own, learning the way of her. Abby's teeth and Abby's tongue and Abby's rich, spicy flavour, pulling him in and drowning him in the need for more.

She licks her lips when he pulls away and he can't help himself.

"Next time you wear that dark red lipstick into the office, I'm gonna bend you over right next to Major Mass Spec and fuck you 'till you can't walk."

She raises an eyebrow and looks smug.

"If I'd known that was all it took I might have worn underwear under those little skirts more often. And bought a few more tubes in this colour."

The thought of it scorches every available synapse, and he shuts his eyes for a moment to fight the urge to push her towards the nearest flat surface. "Tease," he grits out, and her giggle is so triumphant it makes him smile.

"Gibbs. Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs. It's not teasing if it's true. I'm not a tease. Oh baby, no. I'm all about the follow through," she drawls, and dammit, he jumps like a green kid when her nimble fingers unhook his belt and slide down his zipper.

"See? All you need to do if you want to see me on my knees is say 'suck my cock, Abby,' and hey presto!" 

Warm lips, taking him in. Wet tongue, sliding over the head of his cock, and tickling up the sides. Merciless suction, threatening to pull his sanity out, one braincell at a time. 

"Oooh, lipstick ring!"

"Up!" is all he can say, and she blinks, surprised, until he whips her around to sit on the counter. He unbuttons the first two buttons of her jeans for her, and then moves to push off her jogging shoes so he can tug those tight jeans free of her long legs. Her panties, he's happy to note, come with, and he throws the bundle of contorted denim behind him to returns his attention to the woman sitting stark naked on his kitchen bench.

"It's not that I wasn't enjoying that," he says as he moves between her thighs, hands already dancing their way over all the newly-exposed flesh. "but it was gonna end way too soon, and we don't like to rush things, do we Abs?"

She murmurs an assent as his fingers toy with the rich thatch of curls that covers her pussy, sliding up and down the increasingly wet slit concealed beneath. 

"Tell me how you like to be fucked, Miss Sciuto," he grits into her ear, grinning at the gush of wetness as his words register. So cerebral, Abby. Figured she'd be a talker.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she chants, and he bends his head to suck at one proud nipple, then draws it out with his teeth until her back arches and she starts to pant.

"Like that, then? Want me to leave you sore? Or so slow and gentle you scream for me?" he says, sliding his forefinger past her pouting labia to the slippery, wet cavern inside. "So ready for me, Abs. Gotta tell me how."

"Don't care. Just need you inside me. Fast. Deep," she babbles, so close to begging he knows that fast might well be their only option.

He turns her around, but it's Abby who braces herself on the counter and raises onto her toes so he can push inside. Their groans mingle as he's wrapped in her wet heat, and Gibbs needs to drop a kiss between her shoulder blades, one hand skating over the arms of the crucifix on her back as he twists his hips to drive in deep.

He reaches around to find her clit, her loud "fuck YES," telling him she's close enough to need this now, so he mashes the entire area under the heel of his hand and simply rubs frantically. She's slamming herself back onto him, and it's so fucking good, but, but ... there's something wrong, and her breathy little pleas are driving him nuts, and he just needs to know ...

He succumbs to just one more deep thrust before he eases free, and flips her around once more. Her groan of protest nearly kills him, but he can only respond with a broken "please, Abs" as he pulls her back into him. He urges her upwards with both hands under her butt, and slides back inside even as she locks her legs around his waist.

They are eye to eye, chest to chest, and bodies intermeshed when the bliss takes them. Long shuddering waves of it that leave them both weak, sagging against the counter, half minded to simply slide down onto the floor. 

"That was ..." Abby says dreamily when speech returns. "But why ..."

"I needed to see you," he shrugs, and drops a kiss on the scar in apology. "Needed you to see me, seeing you."

The smile blazes across her face, and he half expects her to skip with excitement.

Instead, she bends to pick up her clothes.

He must have made some sort of sound, because she raises a teasing eyebrow in his direction, then takes him by the hand and leads him towards the bedroom.

"Well, when you were asking me how I liked it, I might have left out one thing," she purrs.

"Often. Lots. Repeatedly," she enunciates, and beckons him down.

 

_fin_


End file.
